If the Devil Wrote Poetry
by Lady of Pride
Summary: -AU- To avoid an invasion from the Beilschmidt Empire, old Roma Vargas proposes a marriage between the families to keep the peace. Ludwig accepts. Feliciano, on the other hand...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: My other computer is broken, which is the only reason why I haven't updated _'In the Shadow of Albion'_ yet. I really need to invest in a USB device, _seriously_...*shakes head in shame*

**Title:** If the Devil Wrote Poetry

**Rating:** M

**Pairing(s): **Ludwig/Feliciano; includes Antonio/Romano, Roderich/Elizabeta, one-sided Francis/Feliciano, etc...

**Length:** Actually, I don't foresee this one taking more than a couple of chapters (five more at the most, maybe?). It was supposed to be a one-shot, but then it grew longer than I could handle editing in one sitting.

**Warnings: **_**AU**_, swearing, a smidgen of violence, and, of course, a little smex. Also, Ludwig might come off as a bit of a jerk in the beginning (but that's because he doesn't have his loveable Italian to humble him, yet—and besides, growing up with Gilbert is bound to rub off on a guy, even if only by a little) ;)

**Translations:** Because I am, most certainly, _not_ a pro at this, I'll be posting what I _assume_ are the correct translations at the bottom of the page. If you're a native speaker (or just an autodidact linguist), please feel free to tell me if I've made any mistakes.

**Disclaimer:** No matter how much I wish otherwise, Hetalia is _not_ mine...

_**Summary:**__ (AU) To avoid an invasion from the Beilschmidt Empire, old Roma Vargas proposes a marriage between the families to keep the peace. Ludwig accepts. Feliciano, on the other hand..._

~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~

"...That is the _stupidest_ thing I have ever heard."

Roma shrugged and slumped a little further into his throne, trying—and failing—to ignore his firecracker of grandson as the young man began yet another diatribe. What he could he possibly say in his defence? It was the best he could do, given the circumstances...

"_Oi_!" Romano had seen idiocy in finest form before, but _this_ had to take the cake. "You married me off to King Carriedo to avoid the same ordeal, _or don't you remember_? And why the Beilschmidt family, eh? All I've heard for the last three years is 'Bonnefoy _this_' and 'Bonnefoy _that'_—I thought you were worried about _him_ invading, huh, and not this Beilschmidt fellow?"

"Beilschmidt's father was a reasonable man! But I'm not getting any younger, and now that that _Gilbert's_ the emperor there's no telling what that family will do."

"What _they'll_ do? How about what _I'll_ do, huh? If he does so much as _think_ about invading us, I'll shove my boot so far up his potato-loving—"

"_Romano_," the man tsked. "Inside voices, please."

"Inside voices? ..._Inside voices_? _Do you honestly think_—?"

"Romano, _please_." He had been powerful once; had been renowned for his military success—_feared_, in fact, for what he could, and _would_, do to his enemies should they ever set a toe out of line—but that was the old days, and though his face tended to betray his age, well...he was certainly starting to _feel_ old, and weaker, perhaps, even though he didn't have the heart to tell his grandsons yet. "Gilbert himself is already married. It's his brother that we're talking about here, and Ludwig's not too bad."

"He's a Beilschmidt," Romano snapped. "And besides, I'm pretty sure that idiot brother of mine doesn't even understand what 'sex' is yet. You just can't leave that _bambino_ to the mercy of that...that _beast_."

"That 'beast' is going to be your brother-in-law. At least give him a chance."

Romano went beet-red in a half-second split, but no eruption was forthcoming. He opened his mouth, gapped for a moment as though he couldn't think of anything else to say, and then abruptly turned about face to storm out of the throne room.

Roma flinched as the door slammed shut behind him.

He could already tell that this wasn't going to end happily.

~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~

Gilbert had many ideas. Many, _many_ ideas, in fact, though Ludwig would argue that about only a handful of them deserved to ever see the light of day. There were some things that came out of his brother's mouth that would've been better off left unsaid, such as the carriage that didn't require horses, and a box that cooked food without a fire—but those were merely gibberish in comparison to what his brother had in store for him today.

"I like children," Ludwig confessed, trying hard to wrap his mind around the logic of his brother's proposal, "but I don't believe that a man such as myself has any business _being_ a father."

Leaning back a little, Gilbert propped his feet up on top of his desk and crossed his hands behind his head. And then he _smiled_, one of those charming little curls of the lip that meant trouble for all parties involved. "No problem, kiddo—little Feliciano is a _prince_."

All right...Ludwig was okay with that, but there was yet another matter that had to be taken into consideration and that was the question of Gilbert's ever present thirst for power. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but...weren't you adamant about invading them only last week?"

"About that," Scratching his chin, Gilbert's smile wavered a little. But only a little. Gilbert was an optimist in the oddest sense of the word. "Antonio's married to the eldest kid, so he asked me not to do anything drastic. Then King Roma mentioned that he had another grandson, so I did a little reconnaissance, and, like, _whoa_, talk about beautiful—no joke, Ludi—_and_, I'm pretty sure he sleeps in the nude...Perfect, right?"

Ludwig had to disagree with the man's cursorily evaluation of the prince's overall worth, but he already knew that finding someone agreeable to settle down with was really just a question of mind over matter. His parents weren't really all that in love with one another and yet they had done well enough for themselves as a couple. And since Feliciano would be marrying him to save his kingdom, Ludwig failed to see how this wouldn't work... Actually, it might be nice having someone to talk to—not that he was _lonely_, of course, but if they were going to be intimate with one another, there was really no reason he couldn't share what was on his mind either—

_Not_ that this Feliciano had to chat with him (—Ludwig was well aware that not everyone was interested in talking about politics or whatnot, least of all his dearly departed mother, who, in fact, _deplored _anything that had to do with his father's work—), but Ludwig was certainly open to having a light conversation with his future spouse in the evening. It might even be nice. After all, there was still the chance that they might actually _like_ each other...

"...Fine."

Gilbert blinked. "You'll do it?"

"_Ja_. When do we meet?"

"Well..." Kicking his legs off the desk and using the momentum to rock himself forward, Gilbert leaned against the desktop with his elbows and steepled his fingers curiously under his chin, managing to look every bit the little rascal he'd been for as long as Ludwig could remember. "Roma's already handed the kid over, so I suppose we could drop by tomorrow. Until then, I guess you should just sit tight."

Nodding, Ludwig glanced at the door out of the corner of his eye. He still had all those reports to go through and he hadn't had the chance to eat yet, so...

"You won't regret this," Gilbert chuckled, watching Ludwig as he rose from his seat. "One look and you'll be head over heels for this kid."

"Perhaps."

"Seriously."

"And what do you suppose he'll think of me?"

Gilbert gaped for a moment. Then he grinned. "That you're the sweetest guy in the world...?"

Ludwig snorted derisively and made his way toward the door.

He'd believe it after the '_I do'_s.

~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~

Feliciano was, for all intents and purposes, still a child—_very_ _much_ so, in fact—and Romano was willing to bet both his kidneys that the little_ bambino_ still didn't understand why people slept in the nude together, other than to avoid dying of heat exhaustion. So as soon as he burst out of the throne room, he went about the tedious task of tearing the palace apart looking for him, only to discover that Feliciano _wasn't_ anywhere in the near vicinity and _wouldn't_ be until tomorrow morning.

So Romano snapped at anyone within earshot and stormed up and down his brother's halls until Antonio dragged him away for supper. And then, at the crack of dawn, he returned to Feliciano's suite to brood in the sitting room until he heard the servants rushing to the main entrance to bid the young prince welcome, at which point Romano stomped after them to give Feliciano the '_what's for_' and waited, rather impatiently, for his little brother to show his stupid little face.

He was effectively neutralized, however, the second Feliciano stepped through the door, throwing both of his arms around Romano's neck with a shout of unadulterated joy and squeezing the mother-loving breath out of him without so much as a _'how-do-you-do'_.Romano bore with it, because, _one_, he wasn't about to hit his brother when he already had to deliver bad news, and, _two_, he wasn't entirely sure he _could_ hit Feliciano, at least at this proximity.

Good _Lord,_ he hated those hugs...

"I have bad news," he gasped, just as soon as he could breathe again.

Feliciano merely smiled at him and patted his cheek gently as he was wont to do whenever Romano greeted him. Then he blew a kiss to the old maid as he trounced down the hall to his bedroom. "It's good to see you _too_, Romano!"

"Are you even listening to me?" He snapped. "This is serious business, you little bastard. _Nonno_ is trying to get rid of you."

"You're always so mean to me," Feliciano pouted, but the smile he flashed at Romano over his shoulder betrayed his genuine mirth. It was hard to get Feli in a bad mood—harder still to tell him the world was crumbling all around him.

Once in the safety of his bedroom, Feliciano dove onto the bed, face first, and burrowed himself under the mountain of pillows. Romano sat down beside him after closing the door, and pinched what he supposed was the boy's arm when he suspected Feliciano had already fallen asleep.

"_Oi_—I thought I told you to listen?"

"You didn't," Feliciano replied, though his voice was muted by the pillows. After a moment he resurfaced, smiling benignly at Romano as he tried to fix his hair. "So, what's new?"

"_Marriage_," Romano grumbled. Then he slapped Feliciano's hand away when the boy moved to pat his arm affectionately. "Not _mine_, _stupido_... I'm talking about yours."

Feliciano opened his mouth to reply...and then he closed it, as though he couldn't remember what he wanted to say. Chances were, he probably had no idea _what_ to say. Period. "You've been eating enough lately, Romano?"

"_Yes_, but that isn't the point. The point _is_ you've been betrothed to Prince _Hedwig_, or whatever, of the Beilschmidt family."

"...Betrothed?"

"Yes."

"...Like you were?"

"Yes."

"...Is he nice?"

Romano rolled his eyes. "Hell if _I_ know...Probably not. His older brother is a total _ass_."

"You've met?"

"Unfortunately. The moron's friends with Antonio, so I can't exactly ignore him."

"And what happens if I don't?" Feliciano murmured. " 'Get married', I mean."

"Too late. _Nonno_ already handed you over."

Feliciano's eyes went as wide as saucers—Romano would've been tempted to laugh if he wasn't in such a dour mood already. "But if he isn't nice, I don't want to marry him!"

Romano shrugged.

"_No_!" Feliciano snapped (it frightened Romano...just a little), and then he grabbed Romano's arm, giving it a desperate shake. "_Nonno_ won't make me if I ask him, right?"

Oh, _ha_. That was actually kind of funny. "_Nonno's_ hands are kind of tied right now. If the moron had invested more time and effort in keeping up his army after dad died, we wouldn't _be_ in this situation, but I digress...I suggest you run."

Feliciano stared at him blankly for a moment. "...Run?"

"Yes."

"But why?"

"Because the Beilschmidt's are cruel bastards that don't allow afternoon naps, and because you obviously aren't old enough to get married yet, so, yeah, _run_. If you start now, you just might make it out of the city before those potato-freaks get here, but I'm only guessing, because I don't know when—"

That was about as far as he got before Feliciano was out the door.

And then he heard the horn going off in the courtyard to announce the stupid Beilschmidts' arrival, and, well, _maybe_ he was a little satisfied with how everything was progressing, because, hey, it was the Beilschmidts after all...

...and maybe Feliciano deserved to fall in love like he did.

(—as if he'd ever tell _Antonio_ that. Yeah, right...)

~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~

Gilbert was right.

Roma really _didn't_ age.

At first, Ludwig thought it was the late king that sat before them in the throne room—_then_ he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, because, well...yeah.

It was kind of creepy.

"So you're..._'Ludwig'_?" the man in question murmured, appraising the fair-haired duo from his perch on the throne. Ludwig knew the king approved of the betrothal, but he had a sinking suspicion that maybe the old man was still a little over protective of his youngest grandson—and maybe, _just_ _maybe_, he was starting to have second thoughts...

Too late for that, Ludwig thought sardonically. He'd already accepted.

"_Jawhol, Majestät._" He paused here to bow, well aware that Gilbert was probably trying very hard not to roll his eyes as he followed his lead. "_Ich heiße Ludwig._"

"How old are you?" the man inquired, and this happened to be a question Ludwig was familiar with, at least when he was standing next to Gilbert. It usually threw people for a loop when trying to figure out which one of them was the eldest, simply because Ludwig was taller than his brother.

"Twenty-seven," Gilbert replied for him.

In the corner of his eye, a messenger shifted his weight anxiously from one foot to the other.

"Feliciano has just become of age..." Roma frowned, more so in concern than disappointment, but even so, Ludwig didn't like where this was going. "We really haven't prepared him for marriage yet. So, perhaps—"

"I don't have impossible expectations," Ludwig interrupted before the man could take that particular line of thought any further. And really, he didn't. Feliciano just had stand by his side in public and keep his mouth shut, maybe smile a little and make himself agreeable with anyone Ludwig wanted to introduce himself to, and that was pretty much it. Other than what transpired in the bedroom, he assumed he wasn't asking for anything the boy couldn't do already. It was all very simple, really.

"That's...nice... But I understand you're a busy man, _Herr Beilschmidt_, so perhaps we could al—"

"Oh, _for the love of_—" Gilbert threw his arms up into the air, the way he usually did when his battle plans weren't going exactly as planned He was an impatient man, even at the best of times. "—consider yourself _lucky_ we're going through with this at all, Roma, because if Ludi doesn't marry your grandson, I'm going to marry him off to some _countess_ Carriedo keeps yapping about, and since Ludi doesn't want to have _kids_ that's going to present yet another problem for us. Now, where the heck is Feliciano, because that _nut_ of a woman, Elizabeta, has already got the whole ceremony planned out for the end of the week and I'd like to drag him back with us before anyone else gets cold feet. You think you can handle that?"

"Perfectly," Roma replied dryly.

"Awesome."

Inclining his head toward the wary messenger, the weary old king waved his hand for him to step forward. "Tell Bonifacia to pack Feliciano's things, and then fetch the boy for me, please."

"I..." The man took off his hat, its ridiculously long feather tickling his knees as he worried the rim anxiously between his fingers. "I mean...well..."

"Yes?"

"He's gone, Your Majesty." The messenger shrank back a little, glancing nervously between Ludwig and Gilbert as soon as the words left his mouth. "He ran away—just fifteen minutes ago, actually..."

...

_Scheiße_.

~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~

A/N: Love it? Hate it? Can't decide? No worries, darlings. Drop me a note if you have a chance, but this fic is going to get finished anyway. I just thought you might like to come along for the ride...

**Translations:** (Or what I'm guessing they must be. Please correct me if I'm wrong.)

'_Bambino'_ ~ 'baby (m)' (Italian)

'_Nonno' _~ 'grandfather' (Italian)

'_Stupido'_ ~ 'stupid' (Italian)

'_Jawhol, Majestät'_ ~ 'yes, your majesty' (German—at least, I think that's how it's supposed to be)

'_Ich heiße Ludwig'_ ~ 'my name is Ludwig' (German)

'_Herr' _~ 'sir/mister' (German)

'_Scheiße.'_ ~ 'shit' (German)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: All I can say is, _wow_. Thank you _so_ much for the wonderful reviews (and to those of you who left an anonymous reply: again, thank you, I sincerely appreciate it).

Now—onwards!

**Title:** If the Devil Wrote Poetry

**Rating:** M

**Pairing(s): **Ludwig/Feliciano; includes Antonio/Romano, Roderich/Elizabeta, one-sided Francis/Feliciano, one-sided Gilbert/Romano, etc...

**Warnings: **_**AU**_, swearing, a smidgen of violence, and, of course, a little smex. Also, Ludwig might come off as a bit of a jerk in the beginning (but that's because he doesn't have his loveable Italian to humble him, yet—and besides, growing up with Gilbert is bound to rub off on a guy, even if only by a little) ;)

**Translations:** Because I am, most certainly, _not_ a pro at this, I'll be posting what I _assume_ are the correct translations at the bottom of the page. If you're a native speaker (or just an autodidact linguist), please feel free to tell me if I've made any mistakes.

**Concrit:** is appreciated, because sometimes I'm a doofus and I screw up when I'm editing.

**Disclaimer:** No matter how much I wish otherwise, Hetalia is _not_ mine...

_**Summary:**__ (AU) To avoid an invasion from the Beilschmidt Empire, old Roma Vargas proposes a marriage between their families to keep the peace. Ludwig accepts. Feliciano, on the other hand..._

~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~

Needless to say, he hadn't the slightest idea where he was going.

To be fair, though, Feliciano had never been 'on-the-run' before and that was, due in part, to the fact that he wasn't much for breaking the rules. The worst he'd ever done included skipping out on dinner so that he could flirt with one of the gardeners' daughters, and that wasn't even _half_ as bad as some of the things Romano did. His brother had been prone to sneaking out in the middle of the night to do God-knows-what before he was married off to Antonio. _And_ he swore an awful lot. Feliciano couldn't even say _'hell'_ without blushing...

He should've grabbed his horse.

Then again, there was no telling how long it would be before they realized he was gone, so there was no use wasting his time in the stables. And besides, the guards would've spotted him on the way out. So, yeah...

But where was he going?

Squeezing through the throng, Feliciano made his was steadily along the central vein of the marketplace toward the northernmost quarter of the city. From there, he would take a short cut through the Abruzzo Forest (—which really wasn't a short cut, when he thought about it, because it was rather large and he'd gotten lost in it before—), and then...well, he'd just have to wing it.

Sidestepping around a young man who'd dropped his hat, Feliciano took the opportunity to glance over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. Maybe it was too early to warrant a search, but he had realized long ago that someone was always keeping an eye on him. And even _if _he still had a little time left before they realized he was gone, that did not guarantee he could outrun them when they did.

Sighing, he turned back down the street and continued his weary journey onward. He didn't want to get married now, not when his life had only just begun. And to a _Beilschmidt_ no less, one of the warmongers of the eastern world. He didn't want to live in their cold, dark cities, or eat their flavourless food, or be _beaten_, if it turned out his fiancé was prone to such things. He wanted freedom, and happiness, and children. Was that too much to ask for?

...Apparently so. For whatever reason, fate had seen it fit to sentence him to a loveless relationship in a foreign land where he would wallow in his misery until there was nothing left of him. And then the world would go on turning, because that was just how unimportant he was in the scheme of things.

Kicking up a pebble, he bowed his head and followed its convoluted path as it skipped merrily down the cobblestone street. On either side, vendors were calling out to him, waving their wares and whistling to the pretty ladies, but he trudged slowly onward, seemingly lost to thought, until his feet had carried him to the outskirts of town.

It was quieter here. More of a residential area for the working class than anything else, but it was beautiful in its simplicity. White stones arches and bundled flowers; children playing in the streets; the smell of good cooking wafting through the air—all the signs of home.

He was going to miss it.

A child stumbled out of an alleyway in front of him, reaching down with her pudgy little hands to collect the cat that had darted out into the street. Feliciano stopped abruptly before they could collide and braced himself as she chased it around his legs, giggling madly.

He stared after her as she ran back the way he'd come and that's when he saw them: four guards walking at a leisurely pace, three of which he recognized as his own. The fourth was a fair haired gentleman in a green uniform and an odd sort of pointy helmet.

There was a brief moment when they all sort of just stood there, completely frozen, as they each took their time piecing together the implications of this strange encounter...

And then Feliciano was off.

~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~

"Apparently, the little hottie can really run."

Ludwig waved his brother off much the same way he would a fly, which had become something of a habit since Gilbert ascended the throne, though perhaps this time he was a little more irritated than usual. _After_ _all_, it wasn't every day his fiancé fled at the mere thought of marrying him.

...

Not that Ludwig would ever _admit_ to being bitter. (Even if he was.)

Unperturbed (as usual), Gilbert cleared his throat and continued, this time loud enough for the benefit all. "I've been told that your grandson disappeared into the Abruzzo Forest, _Majestät_. Our men took chase when they spotted him in the northern quarter, but he out-paced them."

Leaning against the railing of his exposition balcony, Roma hummed curiously to himself before he turned to offer Ludwig an apologetic smile. "He's funny like that. Can't get him to exercise when he needs to, but when there's trouble..."

"Forget his lethargy, he's going to get lost in there," Romano grumbled from his corner. He'd been stewing ever since he laid eyes on the brothers and hadn't offered much in the way of an explanation for Feliciano's disappearance other than, _'serves you right, mister potato-head.'_ "Just wait and see—give it a week and _maybe_ he'll wander back out again."

Roma opened his mouth as though to protest. Ultimately, though, he said nothing.

Ludwig sighed.

Sparing a glance at the horizon, he realized that they had a maybe an hour left until the sun set. This, of course, did not bode well for the youngest Vargas...

"No worries," Gilbert piped. He reached over to thump Ludwig heartily on the back and gave Roma a look like spelt trouble for all parties involved. "Ludi here is the best huntsman in the empire. Just saddle his horse and he'll have the kid back before dawn."

Both of the Vargas's turned to look at the man in question. One amused; the other...perhaps a little less than thrilled.

Feeling the heat rise in his face, Ludwig hoped to God that he wasn't blushing.

"Is that _so_..." Lovino muttered. "Well, _mio fratello_ isn't some sort of _dumb_ animal you can just slaughter in a hail of arrows, _Bellsmith_. So you can take that sword of yours and—"

"_Romano_."

"Don't _'Romano' _me! Our men are _more_ than capable of finding him on their own."

Roma gave his grandson a look that said otherwise.

"...Well, they _will_ if he stays put long enough."

"And a little extra help won't hurt."

"But..." Romano waved his hands at the brothers, unabashed in his apparent opinion of the two. "It's _them_ we're talking about here."

"Thank you," Gilbert chirped.

"Oh, Romanito...I'm pretty sure there are more pressing matters that you should be dealing with at the moment."

"Oh yeah?"

"Your husband, for one."

Romano turned beet red. "_Oi_! I'm not some—"

"Romano..._now_."

Romano looked very much as though he had a few choice words for his grandfather, but just as Ludwig expected his pretty little head to explode, he turned about-face so quickly his robes whipped Gilbert in the arm and stomped back into the throne room.

The three remaining royals watched him quietly until he disappeared from sight, and it was with a brief sideways glance that Ludwig caught sight of the stupid grin on Gilbert's face, the kind he usually had when he became infatuated with something.

The look did not go unnoticed by Roma.

Clearing his throat, the elderly man shifted his gaze to Ludwig. "You were saying?"

"Oh, I..." He blinked, momentarily stupefied by Romano's display. "I mean, if you so wish, _Majestät_, I'm prepared to leave at once."

"I see..." He stroked his chin, gaze flickering to the sword at Ludwig's waist as though he half expected the Beilschmidt to make use of it before the night was through. "And the fact that my son fled at the mere mention of your engagement doesn't deter you in the slightest?"

Briefly, Ludwig weighed the chances Gilbert was lying, that perhaps Feliciano was fat, or ugly, or clinically insane, instead of the darling little creature he was supposed to be...

Ultimately, though, he realized that it was his duty to marry whoever Gilbert wanted him to, regardless of his feelings on the matter. So, really, what was the use in resisting?

"_Nein, Majestät_. I intend to take him."

Roma quirked an eyebrow; Gilbert snickered.

...Did he translate that wrong?

Coughing into his fist, Ludwig tried to hide his blush. "_Have_ him—_marry_ him? What is your word for it?"

"I understand what you mean. Now..." Glaring at Gilbert out of the corner of his eye, Roma waved Ludwig off, "save my grandson—but perhaps carefully, _sì_? He is...a _sensitive_ child."

Closing his eyes, Ludwig clicked his heels together and bowed.

"_Jawohl, Majestät_..."

~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~

What exactly had he been thinking?

'_Nothing.'_ That's what Romano would say. Then again, Romano had been the one to suggest this, so, really, Feliciano shouldn't be so hard on himself...

Even so, he was pretty sure he was screwed.

All the trees looked the same this far into the forest, and any of the finer details he _might've_ noticed before getting himself hopelessly lost faded into oblivion as the sun dipped farther into the west. It was an art, really. Getting lost, that is, because it had only been maybe twenty minutes since he came here and he'd already passed that gurgling creek twice. Quite the accomplishment...

With his luck, he'd probably die of exposure.

Fighting the urge to curl up into a ball between the gnarled roots of the nearest tree and start wishing his problems away, Feliciano decided to follow the creek in the hope that it would lead him somewhere other than...well, 'here'.

After a while, though, it started to get a little darker, and since it was a new moon tonight and a little overcast, he didn't expect he'd be able to go on for much longer. Other than freezing to death, he had no idea what awaited him in the night, and so he wondered briefly if he'd be safer from the so-called wild 'things' Romano was always telling him about if he stopped now and climbed a tree.

He honestly considered this for a moment as he paused to pick the lucky candidate (one which wasn't _too _tall, because, oh, wouldn't it be tragic if he fell and broke his neck; and which had low enough branches for him to reach because he certainly didn't do this sort of thing as a hobby), and that was when he saw it...

A horse.

He did a double take, because he was pretty sure people only hallucinated if they were poisoned or lost in the desert, neither of which applied to him (he hoped), but, lo and behold, tethered to his tree of choice was indeed a horse. And it was armoured, which could only mean one thing.

Sure enough, he had all of three seconds to figure out what exactly this implied before his last chance of fleeing from a loveless marriage was dashed to pieces against the forest floor. He froze as a broad arm slithered around his waist to pull him back against his assailant's chest, his cry muffled against a leather glove as a hand was slapped over his mouth. Naturally, he struggled, screaming and thrashing to the best of his ability, until he had exhausted the last of his energy for the day and hung limply in the stranger's embrace.

His assailant bore with it patiently, grip tightening briefly when he assumed Feliciano might bite, but physically relaxed when the prince relented. Then, leaning over Feliciano's shoulder, he murmured, _"If you try to run, there will be consequences. Verstehst du?"_

The man's dialect was thick; his breath hot against the shell of Feliciano's ear.

Feliciano shuddered and nodded in concurrence, even if he hadn't understood that last part.

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, the man removed his hand from the prince's mouth. When no sound was forthcoming, the hand lowered further to Feliciano's shoulder and turned him about-face sharply.

Feliciano squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for best.

The man didn't say anything. Instead, he slid his hand from Feliciano's shoulder to his face and lifted Feliciano gently by the chin.

Curious, Feliciano cracked one eye open, and then the other, gazing up at the man who had taken him captive with the same kind of awe and terror that had gripped him the first time he met Antonio Carriedo. His assailant was tall (frightfully so) and blond, with a strong build and piercing blue eyes; and the way he was cradling the prince's face, Feliciano couldn't help but wonder if the man meant to commit something particularly wicked to the young prince before turning him in.

_Mio Dio_...he shouldn't have run.

Panicking (which was something of his forte), he jerked away from the man and took a tentative step back. It was then that he was reminded of how slippery the rocks were along the creek and why it was _Nonno_ always warned him not to run on a wet floor.

Well, one second he was simply standing there, contemplating what exactly the 'consequences' would be if he did run—the next he was lying flat on his back, head smarting as his fundamental sense of sight gradually gave way to the blow...

And then his consciousness followed shortly after.

**A/N:** For some reason, Germany's balcony scene did _not_ want to be written. Needless to say, I apologize for the delay, and if you have any problems with the chapter, please feel free to tell me. Any feedback you have is much appreciated, darlings.

**Translations**: (Special thanks to those who corrected me last time—seriously, it helps—especially **AnimaLight** for the Italian)

"_Mio fratello"_ ~ 'my brother' (Italian)

"_Majestät" _~ 'your majesty' (German)

"_Nein"_ ~ 'no' (German)

"_Si" _~ 'yes' (Italian)

"_Jawohl"_ ~ 'yes' —formally, I think, or more like, 'yes sir' (German)

"_Verstehst du?"_ ~ 'do you understand?' (German)

"_Mio Dio" _~ 'my God' (Italian)


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Again, _wow_—you people are phenomenal. I sincerely thank you for all your wonderful feedback (and I promise to fill Feliciano out a little more, honestly—you have my word!) *bows*

Now—onwards!

*******Important note(s):** Just for future record, Belgium will henceforth be known as _Farahilde _or _'Fara'_ (since I couldn't find her real human name anywhere on the internet...)

**Title:** If the Devil Wrote Poetry

**Rating:** M

**Pairing(s): **Ludwig/Feliciano; includes Antonio/Romano, Roderich/Elizabeta, one-sided Francis/Feliciano, one-sided Gilbert/Romano, etc...

**Warnings: **_**AU**_, swearing, a smidgen of violence, and, of course, a little smex. Also, Ludwig might come off as a bit of a jerk in the beginning (but that's because he doesn't have his loveable Italian to humble him yet—and besides, growing up with Gilbert is bound to rub off on a guy, even if only by a little) ;)

**Translations:** Because I am, most certainly, _not_ a pro at this, I'll be posting what I _assume_ are the correct translations at the bottom of the page. If you're a native speaker (or just an autodidact linguist), please feel free to tell me if I've made any mistakes.

**Concrit:** is appreciated, because sometimes I'm a doofus and I screw up when I'm editing (seriously, feel free to nitpick on anything).

**Disclaimer:** No matter how much I wish otherwise, Hetalia is _not_ mine...

_**Summary:**__ (AU) To avoid an invasion from the Beilschmidt Empire, old Roma Vargas proposes a marriage between the families to keep the peace. Ludwig accepts. Feliciano, on the other hand..._

~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~

"...Why is he wet?"

"Gilbert, _move_."

Fortunately, Ludwig didn't have to ask twice. Gilbert side-stepped out of the way as he made a beeline for the bed, one comatose Feliciano Vargas slouched in the cradle of Ludwig's arms before he was deposited atop a mountain of pillows. The servants swarmed Ludwig all at once, nattering to one another in their native tongue as they darted in and out of the room, gathering dry clothes and blankets along the way—Ludwig was almost barrelled over twice in the ensuing madness, so he took a sage step back to join his brother and stood there quietly as he watched all hell broke loose...

After a beat, Gilbert elbowed him sharply in the gut.

"_Ow_. What?"

"I can't decide whether to flaunt my awesome match-making skills now that you've seen him, or beat you within an inch of your life for nearly killing him. Because, _you_ _know_, I'm pretty sure Roma didn't say _'dead or alive'_ when he gave you the okay..."

Ludwig elbowed him in return, perhaps a little harder than necessary. "He _slipped_. Do you honestly believe I would beat a child?"

"...'Child', huh?" Gilbert wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Ludwig wound up his arm to hit him again but was momentarily knocked off balance when one of the maids darted past him toward the door. A manservant followed shortly after her, but he stopped along the way to grab Gilbert by his arm and then proceeded to usher the young emperor out into the hall.

Ludwig blinked in confusion, watching as they slammed the twin doors shut behind his flustered brother. It was then that he glanced over at the bed and realized they were actually going to _undress_ Feliciano—right then and _there_—and that one of the younger maids was staring at Ludwig as though she wasn't entirely sure if he should be there either, engagement bedamned.

Blushing—if the sudden rush of heat to his face indicated anything—Ludwig clicked his heels together smartly and bowed. But upon raising his head, he unintentionally (—_unintentionally_!) caught a glimpse of sun-kissed skin and a pair of the loveliest legs had _ever_ seen, which was sufficient enough to short-circuit his brain and...and...

Whipping his head around so violently he very nearly dislocated something, Ludwig marched briskly after his brother. No matter how enticing that seemingly harmless creature was, they were _not_ married yet. And, besides...he didn't need to give Roma or his grandsons another reason to hate him before the week was through. He could already guess that Feliciano's current state of health wasn't going to go over well with the old king...

"_You son of a—_"

"Now, now, Lovi~"

Ludwig was barely two feet out the door before they were on him. Well, _Romano_ at least, because Antonio was only there to pull the young man off, even if Ludwig was in danger of toppling over under their combined weight...

"Why is he unconscious—or _dead_? _Is_ he dead, because if he _is_—"

"He slipped and smacked his head," Gilbert interrupted, openly amused with the way Antonio was struggling to pry his husband's hands from Ludwig's throat. "Ludi isn't a bastard, kiddo."

"_You_," Romano hissed, eyes flashing menacingly. His grip slackened almost immediately as he registered his next target; Ludwig took this opportunity to distance himself from the red-faced prince, touching his neck gingerly where the boy's nails had pierced the skin. "This is all _your_ fault. If you weren't so goddamn _selfish_, _mio fratello_ wouldn't be in this mess!"

"Yep. _Awesomest_ marriage of the year, _Liebling_. Guilty as charged."

"...I am going to _enjoy_ killing you."

"Go right ahead." Gilbert winked. "A 'little death' never hurt anyone."

"_Gilbert_." Antonio warned.

"_Relax_...As if I'd ever do anything without your supervision."

The look Romano gave Gilbert in response to that foretold of his imminent death.

"I don't think Antonio is foolish enough to jeopardize his marriage like that." Roma cleared his throat from the other end of the hall, guards bowing as he strode past them to join their small group. "Or perhaps his life, for that matter...Are you, Antonio?"

"No, _vuestra majestad_."

"Good." Roma smiled. He stopped just short of Feliciano's doors and gave them a long and weary look before turning his attention to Ludwig. "Now, I've been told you were able to collect my grandson...?"

"'Kill him' more like," Romano muttered. "Practically strangled him in the farthest reaches of the forest before dragging his mangled body back to us..."

Roma blinked. "I see...Ludwig?"

"_Nein, Majestät_! I—"

Roma silenced him with the wave of his hand, a small smile gracing the corner of his lips. "No need to elaborate. I'm assuming, then, that my little one did something or other to injure himself?"

"Well..._yes_, but—"

"You seewhat I mean?" Romano interjected. "How is he supposed to care for Feliciano if he can't even protect the stupid _bambino_ from himself? _Fratello_ needs constant supervision!"

"We have plenty of tall and inaccessible towers," Gilbert offered.

Ludwig fought the sudden overwhelming urge to hit him.

"Then why don't you pitch yourself off one, you pervert? Do us all a favour..."

"_Lovi._"

"What? He wants to have an _affair_ with me, and _you're_ more concerned about his health?"

"No, but..."

"Antonio," Roma sighed, "please, tread carefully."

"_Dios mio_..."

"Damn straight."

Ludwig had a sinking suspicion that this was what a regular conversation sounded like in this household...

The ensuing silence didn't do much to deter that notion either.

"_Aaaaanyway..._" Gilbert cleared his throat behind his fist, trying, but failing, to hide his smile. "Prince Feliciano is behind door number one, _Majestät._ And since I've got places to be and people to ruin..."

"Hold it _right there_, you _stupid_, potato-eating monster—_mio fratello_ just had the lights knocked out of him, and _you_ want to take him from us? I don't—"

"Of course," Roma interrupted. He gave Romano a stern look when it appeared as though the boy had something to say about _that_, and then nodded at Gilbert. "Just give me a moment, please. I want to talk to him."

"Naturally."

"_But_—!"

"Hush up, you." Roma dropped his hand heavily onto his grandson's shoulder and tugged him toward the door. "And if you give your brother any other ideas, I'll lock _you_ up in one of those tall and inaccessible towers,_ capito_?"

Romano turned beet red and glowered at Ludwig as his grandfather shoved him into the room. Giving the foreign brothers an apologetic look, Roma followed shortly after him...

...

There was silence for a moment, blissful in its simplicity, but then Ludwig's thoughts rattled to a start as his brain began piecing together the delicious, little fragments of that long and awful exchange...

Then Antonio suddenly turned to him and smiled.

"Welcome to the family."

~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~

When the mist lifted from his eyes, Feliciano almost wished he hadn't woken up at all. He was sore and dizzy, and perhaps a little nauseated, but he recognized the pleasant smell of his sheets and the softness of his bed, so the fact that he couldn't quite remember the events leading up to his current state didn't worry him all that much, such was his carefree attitude toward life. He was home, he was safe, and he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, all basic elements of his undemanding happiness...

But he was wearing pyjamas.

Feliciano made a face and burrowed deeper under the covers, wondering what ever could've possessed him to put them on. They were always so starchy and uncomfortable, and occasionally he'd wake up covered in a thin sheen of sweat. They really had no place in this world...

The bed dipped behind him and he froze: he was wearing pyjamas and there was a stranger in his room, two things that didn't bode particularly well for him. And it certainly didn't help that he was a coward at heart, because his sudden trembling was as good a giveaway as anything to the fact that he was now wide awake...

"...Feli?"

Oh.

Feliciano tugged the corner of his blanket down and peeked over the edge at his grandfather. Roma was smiling gently, the kind of way that always made Feliciano want to give him a hug, but trying to sit up to embrace him only succeeded in his flopping back down gracelessly.

_Mio Dio_, did his head ever hurt...

"You hit your head."

No kidding.

"Do you remember what happened?"

He laid there in silence for a moment, trying to think. "...I was in the forest by a creek."

"The Abruzzo?"

"_Sì_, and I...I think I slipped, and..._oh_!" _Now_ he remembered. "There was a man! And he startled me..."

Roma laughed. Romano grumbled something from the far side of the room.

"_Ve~ Romano_!"

"No need to shout. _Estúpido_..."

And, as always, Romano was right; shouting wasn't doing much of anything for his migraine...

"Now that that's cleared up..." Roma's look of relief was quickly replaced with one of his trademark frowns, the kind he usually to reserved for the boys when they broke something. "Why did you run?"

"...Because."

"_Feli_..."

He wanted to burrow under his covers and disappear until nobody could remember what had transpired that day, because the only thing _worse_ than getting married was seeing that disappointed look in his grandfather's eyes...

"I...I don't want to die!"

"..._Romano_."

"_I said no such thing_!"

"But I don't know him!" Feliciano sobbed. "He's so big and quiet. I didn't even hear him coming...He's a killer, isn't he?"

"That's because he's a soldier, Feli."

Good grief. And here he'd been spending all his free time out on the town helping the poor and needy, hoping he'd find a kindred spirit in one of the beautiful peasant girls... Talk about all your effort going to waste.

"...I don't like soldiers."

"You like the guards."

"I'm not married to any of them."

Roma made an odd sort of sound of frustration and rolled his eyes. "_Oi_! I wish I could do better for you, Feliciano, honestly, because if you _think_ this is easy for me, then you're sadly mistaken. Gilbert is having a good old time making a general nuisance of himself, and since Ludwig is certainly one of the better candidates I've seen so far, you are _going_ to marry him. _Do_ _you_ _understand me_?"

"..._Sì_."

"Good, because I'm sending you off with them tomorrow."

"_W-what_?" Romano sputtered. "_But he_—"

"Feliciano needs to be alone with Ludwig somewhere you wouldn't dare to tread."

Romano made an awful face.

"Besides," Roma sighed, "Gilbert isn't so keen on having him run away again and neither am I. So don't give into anymore of these urges, Feli, or you'll find yourself lost in a foreign land."

"But...but what if I don't like it there?"

"Well, then you should've thought about that _before_ you ran, because Gilbert doesn't trust that I won't change my mind and try to slip you away into the night. Besides...have you given any thought to the idea that you might actually _like_ it there? They have snow in the winter, you know."

...Well, he'd never seen snow before.

"I guess if you're shipping him off now, you might as well give him the talk," Romano muttered.

Feliciano frowned. "The talk?"

"About sex."

Roma's face turned an interesting shade of red, almost the same as Romano's whenever Feliciano said something horribly embarrassing. "I...I don't think—"

"—Basically, Ludwig's going spread your legs and jab his _pene_ into your—"

"—_Antonio_ will answer all your questions tomorrow, Feli. _Right_, Romano?"

Romano _'hmph'_-ed.

"...In any case, I think you should meet your future husband."

Feliciano blinked in disbelief. "...Now?"

"_Sì_."

"B-but I..."

"No buts. And Romano, _out_. _Now_."

"_That stupid, potato-munching, sword-wielding_..."

"You'll be fine, Feli."

"_Alone_?"

Roma sighed, rising from the bed. "Yes, _alone_. I think the last thing you need is a running commentary from your brother."

"But you—!"

"Will be right outside the door."

Romano slipped outside, but not before giving Feliciano one last pathetic look. Roma leaned over to kiss his forehead; Feliciano chose that moment to loop his arms around his neck.

"...You're going to have to let go eventually."

"I don't want to."

Roma laughed and gave him another kiss. "Please? Just talk with him for a little while, and then you can go back to sleep."

...Sleep actually sounded kind of nice right about now.

Feliciano relented in his hold. "Do I have to wear the pyjamas?"

Roma blinked. "Youmostcertainly _**do**_."

"No robes?"

"Oh...no. I guess this isn't all that formal, what with him having to chase you into the forest and whatnot..."

Feliciano pouted, but didn't press the matter. He'd slip out of the infernal things later...

"Behave yourself, Feli." Roma warned as he made his way toward the door. "And don't do anything Romano might've told you, even if it sounded wise."

"I won't...but what did Romano mean when he was talking about Ludwig's _pen_—"

Roma was out the door so quickly, Feliciano blinked and almost missed it...

Head still throbbing painfully, he closed his eyes and sighed. He'd have to pay Antonio a visit tomorrow before he left. After all, he'd always meant to ask the man why he and Romano locked their bedroom door when they retired for the night...

Resigned to his fate, he sat up slowly and propped up the pillow he'd been using for his head. Then he leaned back, tried to relax, and debated whether or not the pyjamas were really all that necessary. They were awfully uncomfortably, after all, and he still had his blanket to cover himself up, so maybe Ludwig—

That train of thought was interrupted when the door handle _'clicked'_. Feliciano watched in equal parts fear and fascination as the door swung open only far enough to admit his visitor before closing quietly behind him, and he instinctively wondered if diving under his blankets would do anything to remedy his slight tremors, but by then the man's eyes had fallen on him, and then...and then...

Tall and imposing, but in no manner of the word a brute, Ludwig folded one arm across his stomach and bowed low enough to afford Feliciano all the respect expected of a foreign dignitary.

"..._Guten Abend, Majestät._"

~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~

A/N: Midterms are in full-bloom this season, and so I've only been able to afford roughly ten to fifteen minutes a night to working on this. I apologize. You guys give me such wonderful reviews and it takes me two weeks to give you an update...*hangs head in shame* I promise it won't be like this for long, darlings. Honest.

Side note: This isn't the last you'll be seeing of anyone in this chapter *coughcoughwink*

**Translations:** (Special thanks to _AnimaLight_ for correcting my Italian. Seriously, guys, feel free to tell me whether or not you think something needs to get changed. I don't speak Italian or Spanish and my German is very limited.)

"_Mio fratello"_ ~ 'my brother' (Italian)

"_Liebling"_ ~ a term of endearment, such as 'darling' or 'sweetheart' (German)

"_Vuestra majestad"_ ~ 'your majesty' (Spanish)

"_Nein"_ ~ 'no' (German)

"_Majestät" _~ 'your majesty' (German)

"_Bambino"_ ~ 'baby' (masculine – Italian)

"_Dios mio"_ ~ 'my God' (Spanish)

"_Capito_" ~ 'do you understand?' (Italian)

"_Mio Dio"_ ~ 'my God' (Italian)

"_Sì"_ ~ 'yes' (Italian)

"_Estúpido"_ ~ 'stupid' (Spanish)

"_pene"_ ~ I'm told it's the technical world for a guy's 'manhood', if you know what I mean... (Italian)

"_Guten Abend"_ ~ 'good evening' (German)


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **I've been internet-less for a while now, but I got around to reading all your reviews yesterday and would like to thank you all for your words of encouragement. It does me great joy to know that you're attaining some pleasure from reading this story, however little it may be. _*bows graciously*_

*******Important note(s):** Just for future record, Belgium will henceforth be known as _Farahilde _or _'Fara'_ (since I couldn't find her real human name anywhere on the internet...), and she will henceforth be known as Francis' sister since French is one of her native languages anyway.

**Title:** If the Devil Wrote Poetry

**Rating:** M

**Pairing(s): **Ludwig/Feliciano; includes Antonio/Romano, Roderich/Elizabeta, one-sided Francis/Feliciano, one-sided Gilbert/Romano, etc...

**Warnings: **_**AU**_, swearing, a smidgen of violence, and, of course, a little smex. Also, Ludwig might come off as a bit of a jerk in the beginning (but that's because he doesn't have his loveable Italian to humble him yet—and besides, growing up with Gilbert is bound to rub off on a guy, even if only by a little) ;)

**Translations:** Because I am, most certainly, _not_ a pro at this, I'll be posting what I _assume_ are the correct translations at the bottom of the page. If you're a native speaker (or just an autodidact linguist), please feel free to tell me if I've made any mistakes.

**Concrit:** is appreciated, because sometimes I'm a doofus and I screw up when I'm editing (seriously, feel free to nitpick on anything).

**Disclaimer:** No matter how much I wish otherwise, Hetalia is _not_ mine...

_**Summary:**__ (AU) To avoid an invasion from the Beilschmidt Empire, old Roma Vargas proposes a marriage between the families to keep the peace. Ludwig accepts. Feliciano, on the other hand..._

~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~

"I can't believe he's doing this."

"Gilbert _does_ drive a hard bargain."

Romano gave him _'the look'_.

Antonio shifted uncomfortably where he stood on their bedroom balcony, the city spread out before him beneath the star-lit sky. It had been cloudier earlier, but a westerly wind had long since blown the coverage aside. No rain tomorrow, it looked like. "Ludwig isn't _so_ bad, _cariño_. Nothing like his brother, actually, at least off the battlefield."

"I don't _care_! He's too...too _macho_. And his people have different expectations—_you_ even said so yourself. Love is just a fairy tale affliction to them..."

Antonio winced a little; he _did_ remember saying that, but only because he and Gilbert had drunk themselves into an almighty stupor the night before the eldest Beilschmidt's marriage to Farahilde. _Granted_, neither of them had ever met Francis' sister before, sweetheart that she turned out to be, but it had been a solemn experience when faced with the fact that they were born for the sole purpose of preserving their respective families' inheritances.

Duty always had a way of dulling the grander things in life, he supposed.

"Then perhaps give Feliciano a chance," Antonio sighed. He knew he was grasping at straws here, but if anyone knew Romano like he did, they were well aware of the lengths he'd go to just to get what he wanted. "He might find that he actually _likes_ Ludwig."

"Doesn't matter," Romano huffed, collapsing onto their bed. Behind the diaphanous curtains of the four-poster frame, silhouetted by candlelight alone, Antonio could make out the young man's slender form as he slipped out of his clothes. "He's a _Beilschmidt_. He's large and intimidating—and _demanding_. Practically every moment of his pathetic life is choreographed to some asinine schedule his brother prescribed, down to the very last breath. How is Feliciano supposed to _live _like that?"

Ah, but his little Romanito had a point there...Feliciano was nothing, really, if not free-spirited.

"Perhaps Feli will change him?"

Romano snorted in disbelief. Antonio hardly noticed it, though, as he tried to edge along the wall of the room to get a better glimpse of his husband through the midline crack of the four-poster curtains. He was having a spot of trouble trying to figure out whether Romano was doing this to punish Antonio for siding against him or if the young man was seducing him out of habit with that magnificent body of his...

"He's got, what, a _week_ before the ceremony?" Romano leaned forward to peek around the curtains; Antonio froze in place when those enticing eyes fell on him, like a child caught sneaking sweets from the kitchen right before dinner. "_Nonno_ says _I_ can't go with him, but _you_, on the other hand..."

"_No_," Antonio replied, and despite his being a weak, _weak_ man when accosted by the sight of Romano's half-naked body, he was able to say it with enough conviction to sound as though he actually meant it. "I'm not going anywhere without my little _Lovinito_, and since we both know you're capable of a instigating a great many calamities, _querido_, perhaps it's for the best that you don't send an agent of darkness to do your bidding."

The look Romano shot him before diving back behind the curtains didn't bode well for his getting laid anytime in the immediate future. "¡_Estúpido_! You can sleep on the friggen _floor_ tonight if _that's_ how you feel!"

"_Cariño_, that's not very nice...I'm your husband."

"Some husband _you_ turned out to be. All big and badass in the battlefield, but can't seem to find your backbone whenever _I _need you to kill someone..."

With a roll of his eyes, Antonio reached up to undo the drawstring of his shirt before shrugging it off. Wrath bedamned, he was going to sleep in his own bed tonight, _with_ Romano, because the floor was as cold as high seas in a deluge and he'd much rather wake tomorrow morning _without_ a stiff back, thank you very much.

Romano threw a pillow at his head as he climbed on top of the mattress. Fortunately, Antonio was accustomed to such a greeting and managed to catch it before collapsing over his little tomato like the annoyingly dead weight only he knew how to be.

Romano _'eep'_-ed in protest and tried to hit him with another pillow, but such a feat was ineffective at this proximity. "¡_Culero_!"

"Such language," Antonio tutted before stealing a kiss from the corner of his mouth. "Tomorrow morning we'll wake up bright and early so that you can impart all your martial wisdom upon your poor, little brother, and then we'll put our affairs into order so that we can join him for the ceremony at the end of the week. Alright, _cariño_?"

Romano mumbled something under his breath. It could've been either acquiescence or another lively string of swears. Regardless, his swift surrender could only mean that the clogs were still turning inside his head, thoughts churning dangerously in the darker recesses of his mind as he entertained the idea of murdering at least one, if not both, of the Beilschmidt brothers...

Usually this was a cause for worry, but, again, Antonio was such a weak man when it came to matters of the heart (_ahem_), and his conscience was promptly trampled underfoot by his libido as Romano turned his head _just so_ to reveal the lovely line of his throat...

And like the weak, _weak_ man he was, Antonio threw caution to the wind. Maybe, just for tonight, he could pretend that his husband wasn't plotting to kill someone.

There was plenty of time to worry about that tomorrow.

~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~

Words couldn't describe _quite_ how Feliciano felt when his eyes fell upon Ludwig. His heart was certainly trying to outpace the frantic staccato of one of Antonio's _Tarantella_ as his fear had yet to dwindle, but seeing the man, so foreign and _new_, Feliciano couldn't help but feel intrigued.

Ludwig straightened from his bow eventually and returned to his incredible height before strolling over to the bed. And perhaps it was a small blessing that he didn't appear to be angry or annoyed, because Feliciano had certainly expected something a little less welcoming from the man after the chase he had gone through.

Instinctively, though, Feliciano pressed himself further back into his mountain of pillows. Ludwig's cool composure looked like the genuine thing, but there was really no telling whether or not he had a hairpin trigger of a temper like Romano. And what if it was just a ploy to lower Feliciano's defences? Make him feel safe and secure before—

No. _No_. He wasn't going to go there. Even if Ludwig meant to do something terrible, Feliciano knew, _for a fact_, that his screams were shrill enough to wake the dead. Romano had told him so, and Romano slept at the opposite end of the palace.

Internal dialogue bedamned, Ludwig eventually reached the side of his bed. The man made no move to come any closer though and merely stood there, stalk still, like one of the toy soldiers Feliciano used to play with as a child.

Putting his manners to good use, Feliciano leaned over a little to the side and patted his bed invitingly.

Ludwig stood there for a second, looking utterly dumbfounded, before he seemed to get the idea and took a seat at the very edge. Tucking one leg beneath him so that he could better turn to face Feliciano, Ludwig cleared his throat behind his fist and focused his gaze on something just over prince's shoulder. "...How are you feeling?"

"Oh, _terrible_!" Feliciano whined, still all too aware of the incessant throbbing of his head. "It hurts worse than anything Romano's even done to me."

"_Es tut mir leid_—it was _never_ my intention to hurt you."

"Oh," he said, because it only just occurred to him how his complaint could've been interpreted. _Nonno_ had always warned him about such things. "Well, it's not _your_ fault, silly."

Ludwig cleared his throat again, cheeks a little red.

Feliciano wondered if the man was feeling a little ill himself.

"I'm...I'm glad. Yes. _Danke_. And I...I really don't know what else to say."

Cocking his head to one side, Feliciano blinked. Ludwig didn't look like the sort of person that was ever at a loss for words. In fact, he looked a lot like the captain of the palace guards, and that man could scream for hours on end at the men without so much as taking a single breath.

"You must forgive me," Ludwig murmured, eyes shifting nervously to the pattern of Feliciano's quilt, "my people usually don't meet their intendeds before the actual ceremony. I'm well aware that we'll be spending the rest of our lives together, but I only found out yesterday that you and I would be married, and as such, I...I realize this must be awkward for you. _Too_, I mean. For you too..."

Feliciano heaved a sigh of relief. It was good to see that someone other than Romano could see the madness of this whole affair. "_Sì_! It's crazy, isn't it?"

"_Ja_, it is."

"Want to call it off?"

"No."

Blinking in surprised, Feliciano waited a moment for the punch line. When he realized that nothing was forthcoming, he cleared his throat and tried to imagine why Ludwig looked as unperturbed as he did. "...Why not?"

It was Ludwig's turn now to look surprised, though he managed to pull it off a little less comically than the captain of the guards ever could, merely raising his left eyebrow ever-so-slightly. "What do you mean?"

"The marriage. Don't you want to call it off?"

"_Nein_. Why would I? Other than the alarmingly short span of our betrothal, I think it makes perfect sense."

For a moment, Feliciano felt as though he'd been dropped on his head again... Yes, that had to be it. Why else would the whole world be reeling before his very eyes? "_Ve_—but how does it make any sense at _all_?"

"My brother wants to expand his territory; your grandfather wants to keep his kingdom safe. Through our union, your people will become part of the most powerful empire in the world... I think that's probably the most reasonable decision your grandfather could've made, given the circumstances."

"But...But I don't _know_ you."

"...I'm sorry, but I fail to see what that has to do with any of this. Is that one of your customs? Is there something you'd like to ask me?"

Feliciano would've cried if Ludwig hadn't look so sincere in his confusion. Instead, he sunk down a little further into his mountain of pillows and pulled his quilt up to his chin.

His future was still looking pretty dismal.

"...Are you alright?"

"What about love?"

"I'm sorry?"

"_Love_," Feliciano whimpered. "Isn't there some pretty girl back home that you're madly in love with?"

"No... Are you currently in love with someone yourself?"

"No, but—"

"Perfect." And he said it so matter-of-factly, Feliciano was briefly reminded of the way _Nonno_ sometimes dealt with his grandsons to make sure that they were keeping out of trouble. "Are you a virgin?"

"Huh? _Sì_, but—"

"Thenthat's all that matters."

"No it doesn't!"

Ludwig looked perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"Do your people have pasta?"

"... _Pas-ta_?"

...

That did it.

This wedding was _not_ happening. _Nonno_ could string him up by his ankles from the bell tower if he wanted, Feliciano could honestly care less.

"I'm not marrying you," he muttered, then rolled over onto his side, away from Ludwig, and closed his eyes.

"Wait—_what_? Why?"

"Because you don't know what pasta is."

"B-but—that is _not_ a valid excuse!"

"Yes, it is."

"I beg to differ!"

"_Ve~_ but you obviously know _nothing_ about pasta."

Ludwig made an interesting noise just then, a deep rumbling in the back of his throat that sounded like a cross between a growl and something vaguely painful. In fact, it was so unique Feliciano couldn't help but roll back over to take a look.

Ludwig was red in the face—just a dusting of colour across the cheeks, really, but it was an alarming shade against the man's otherwise fair complexion. "_Nein_," he huffed. "But there will _be_ no compromises, _Liebling_. You will return with me to the capital tomorrow, and you _will_ adjust. That is the way of the world."

"What do you mean?"

"_Change_," Ludwig muttered. Then he stood, not a hair out of place, and dusted his sleeves off sharply, almost as though their conversation had besmirched more than just his mood. "Change—or _perish_. That was my _vater_'s apothegm."

"I'm not going," Feliciano retorted, although he very badly wanted to pause their conversation and ask him what an apothegm was. He didn't care if he sounded petulant, if he didn't put his foot down now there was no telling what would happen to him. He was not an adventurer; better to leave the long and perilous journey of _marriage _to someone like Romano, who ruled his husband with an iron fist (at least when Antonio would allow it). "You can't make me."

Ludwig snorted in mild disbelief, but he was smiling—a little quirk at the corner of his lips that suggested, more or less, that he thought he knew something Feliciano didn't. And it was with this that he clicked his heels smartly together and bowed deeply at the waist. "_Gute Nacht, Majestät_."

"...I mean it," he said, but even to his ears it sounded weak.

"I know."

"But you say that like _Nonno_ does."

"That is the king, _ja_? Well, he's blessed this marriage and given his approval to my plans, so unless you think your _Großvater_ is in the habit of putting your life in jeopardy, perhaps you should respect his wishes?"

Feliciano bit the inside of his cheek... Well, there was no use arguing with that logic, now was there?

Ludwig took his victory for what it was and continued smirking as he turned to leave. Feliciano merely sat there, somewhat dumbfounded, and stared off into the forevermore as Ludwig left him to his peace.

He was starting to get the feeling that he had been beat...

Time for Plan B, he supposed.

~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~

A/N: And so, the plot thickens...

**Translations****:**

_"Cariño"_ ~ 'darling/sweetheart' (Spanish)

_"Nonno"_ ~ 'grandfather' (Italian)

_"Querido"_ ~ 'darling/dear' (Spanish)

_"¡Estúpido!"_ ~ 'idiot!' (Spanish)

_"¡Culero!"_ ~ 'a**hole!' (Spanish)

_"Es tut mir leid"_ ~ 'I'm sorry', although literally it means 'it does me sorrow' (German)

_"Danke"_ ~ 'thank you' (German)

_"Sì!"_ ~ 'yes' (Italian and Spanish)

_"Ja"_ ~ 'yes' (German)

_"Nein."_ ~ 'no' (German)

_"Gute Nacht, Majestät."_ ~ 'goodnight, your majesty' (German)

_"Großvater"_ ~ 'grandfather' (German)


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I apologize for the delay, guys. Seriously, so sorry... *hides away*

*******Important note(s):** Just for future record, Belgium will henceforth be known as _Farahilde _or _'Fara'_ (since I couldn't find her real human name anywhere on the internet...), and she will henceforth be known as Francis' sister since French is one of her native languages anyway. [[**~*~*~Update:** Special thanks to ff member 'Francis_Bonnifoy' for supplying me with the fanon name Florinda Maes. I might just stick with _Farahilde_ though since I've been advertising it for the last couple of chapters and I think most people might no longer read my Author's Notes.]]

**Title:** If the Devil Wrote Poetry

**Rating:** M

**Pairing(s): **Ludwig/Feliciano; includes Antonio/Romano, Roderich/Elizabeta, one-sided Francis/Feliciano, one-sided Gilbert/Romano, etc...

**Warnings: **_**AU**_, swearing, a smidgen of violence, and, of course, a little smex. And I suppose I should mention something about Francis, but I think seeing his name alone in the warning is sufficient enough. ;)

**Translations:** Because I am, most certainly, _not_ a pro at this, I'll be posting what I _assume_ are the correct translations at the bottom of the page. If you're a native speaker (or just an autodidact linguist), please feel free to tell me if I've made any mistakes.

**Concrit:** is appreciated, because sometimes I'm a doofus and I screw up when I'm editing (seriously, feel free to nitpick on anything).

**Disclaimer:** No matter how much I wish otherwise, Hetalia is _not_ mine...

_**Summary:**__ (AU) To avoid an invasion from the Beilschmidt Empire, old Roma Vargas proposes a marriage between the families to keep the peace. Ludwig accepts. Feliciano, on the other hand..._

~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~

Romano was an early riser.

That wasn't to say he was a _morning_ _person_, per say, but dozing off when he was already wide awake was a task in and of itself. He liked his afternoon naps just as much as the next guy, but the sun was a persistent little bastard at the crack of dawn and there was no avoiding the forenoon heat no matter how many layers of quilts and/or Antonio he kicked off the bed in an attempt to remedy the problem.

Needless to say, daybreak found him wandering the halls through Feliciano's apartments before even the head mistress herself could arrive with breakfast. The servants had already packed the prince's things the night before, but Romano found himself rummaging through them almost dolefully before slipping a stiletto knife and a small vile of poison behind the lining of one of the smaller bags, along with a note instructing Feliciano on how he could best use them should he ever want to snuff the life out of his husband in his sleep. Then again, hopefully Ludwig never reached the commission of '_husband'_ in the first place (or share his brother's bed otherwise), but such an event was only days away and Romano was beginning to run a little low on ideas...

After startling the first servant to waltz through the halls with his impromptu visit, Romano invited himself into his brother's parlour and set himself down upon scheming. It wasn't long though before Feliciano stumbled into the room, half asleep and about as equally dressed, before collapsing onto the kishty sofa beside his brother.

"Oh, Romano, I had _such_ a nightmare..."

"No, you had a waking crisis. How's your head?"

Feliciano rubbed it gingerly with the heel of his palm. His hair was an awful mess; there was a kink in his ahoge. "Alright, I suppose...I'm getting married at the end of the week, aren't I?"

Romano's left eye twitched in rebellion, but he kept his lips firmly sealed—there was still a small part of his soul that was heretically superstitious, and he refused to say anything that providence might be tempted to charm into certainty. Their luck was a little on the straggly side at the moment. No need to jinx it.

"What should I do?"

"Haven't you cooked up any ideas yourself yet?"

Feliciano gave him a lazy little smile. With the way he squinting merrily, Romano half-expected him to fall asleep on the spot. Couldn't blame him though.

"...Should I take that as a no?"

"Fleeing the country didn't work," Feliciano mused, "so I'm thinking of putting Plan B into action."

"And what exactly is that?"

"I run off to some monastery and marry the church. I wouldn't mind a life of servitude. I like helping the poor and the needy..."

Romano fought the impulse to roll his eyes. "Is that _all_ now...What about a 'Plan C'?"

"That's easy." Feliciano leaned over to rest his head on Romano's shoulder and yawned, beginning to drift off again. "I surrender."

"_Lord _Almighty—wake up, you _dolt_. You've got maybe an hour before _Nonno_ sends someone up here to collect you, and we _still_ don't have a clue how to get you out of this mess."

"But why even bother? Everyone keeps telling me that my marriage is what's best for the kingdom..."

Romano didn't like the way Feliciano automatically said that, as though his brain was simply summarizing whatever had been fed to him over the course of the last day, so he snapped his fingers in front of his brother's face furiously when it looked as though he was dozing off again and then flicked the end of his nose until Feliciano opened his eyes. "That's a load of crock. _Nonno's_ got powerful friends and enemies alike. Marry any one of them and it'll help the kingdom somehow in the long run—heck, maybe we can find someone with enough man power to help us instil a little good, old-fashioned fear into that bastard _Beilschmidt's_ heart. Emperor that he might be, he's hardly immortal. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"But I really don't want to get married...At all."

Romano sighed. Not that he'd ever admit as much aloud, but the married life wasn't _all_ that bad, at least if you kind of liked your spouse. Granted, Feliciano was currently betrothed to _Ludwig_ of all people, but Romano didn't want this experience to scare his brother off marriage for good. Life was an awfully long thing to brave alone.

"Then maybe we'll find someone who has a bone to pick with Gilbert anyway and see if they'll take us on as a charity case," Romano offered, although where he'd ever find someone like _that_ was beyond him. Maybe somewhere up north? He'd been hearing an awful lot of damsel-in-distress stories from the younger maids lately and how just about every able-body man was now riding off to slay anything they could waggle a sword at. "...You know what? You just focus on making those Aryan bastards as miserable as you possibly can on the journey over, okay? I'll see what I can do about finding you a knight in shining armour."

Feliciano lifted his head from Romano's shoulder and squinted suspiciously at him. "...Is this considered _'scheming'_?"

Lord, _Nonno_ really had him trained now, didn't he?

"No," Romano said, but only because he didn't want Feliciano tattling on him before he could get to work. Best intentions aside, Feliciano really knew how to shoot himself in the foot. "This is simply me expressing my distaste for the situation at hand. If fate suddenly decides to deal you something better, who am I to stop it?"

Feliciano had that half-dazed look in his eyes he usually got when he was still just a little torpid and/or confused. Good. A confused Feliciano was far better than the I-want-to-help-you-but-will-inevitably-screw-you-over-_unintentionally_ Feliciano that used to waddle after him as a toddler. Even so, scheming had somehow been so much easier in those days...

That, he had to admit, was something he missed about his unmarried life—

—But _damn_, he forgot about Antonio. Romano wouldn't make it so much as mile out of the city before his husband figured things out, and Antonio was on to him now anyway. He'd have to deal with him first.

It looked as though Feliciano wanted to interrogate him further, but by then the senior nursemaid had breezed into the room and began carping at Romano to leave—Feliciano needed to eat and bath before he left, not to mention that there were still some things that needed to be packed, and Romano was yet another _distraction_ for the young prince, _blabitty blah blah blah_—more of the same old babble she'd been iterating since the beginning of time between sobs of how much she was going to miss the little sweetheart when he left. Feliciano looked rather dour himself, otherwise Romano would've complained, so instead he wandered down to the courtyard and threw pebbles into the water fountain as he watched Beilschmidt's soldiers lead their horses out from the stables.

They were a disappointingly unremarkable lot, all tall, fair-haired, and broad of shoulder, though to varying degrees, and none of them smiled or made jokes. Thin-lipped and astringent—not at all like _Nonno's_ guards, who, while certainly a force to be reckoned with, where either chatting amiably by the gate or munching away at the remnants of their breakfast. Romano supposed he couldn't blame them though. No, not when Gilbert himself stormed from the stables and bellowed something vaguely threatening at his men in that appalling tongue of his. They all snapped to attention, eyes glazed, like a bunch of windup toys on display; it was no wonder Gilbert had such a god-complex.

Gilbert dismissed them immediately when he spotted Romano by the fountain, lingering long enough to watch them march back into the stables before wandering over to the boy. He was smirking now, but Romano could already tell the man didn't have high expectations for a civil conversation between them this morning. Neither did he.

"_Guten Morgen._"

"Not so much, I'm afraid."

"Oh?"

"You're still _here_, after all."

Much to Romano's chagrin, Gilbert's smile only widened. "Charming as ever, _Ro-ma-ni-to_~. Come to kiss me goodbye?"

"Only if you let me skewer you afterwards."

"Afraid not. I have campaigns to run, cities to level, cultures to destroy—you know me, and the sooner Ludi ties the knot, the sooner we can get back to business."

Romano took a moment to entertain the idea of Ludwig widowing his brother before the year was through; considering the prince's fame in the battlefield, however, it would seem that the odds were stacked against him.

"...A penny for your thoughts?"

Romano shifted a few feet back into the shade of one of the courtyard's fig trees. "I was just wondering how _'soon'_ exactly you plan to mobilize for your next campaign."

Gilbert lifted the back his hand to his brow to dab the perspiration that had gathered there, but did not move to join Romano out of the sunlight. He had always been remarkably restrained in that manner, odd as that might sound. "Three weeks? Four, maybe, if Ludi's up for it. Depends on Antonio too, I suppose, since it's that bastard Sadik Adnan we're after this time."

Romano blinked in surprise. This was certainly news to him. He had only met the sultan a handful of times on political sojourns out east and hadn't much liked him, least of all when Adnan had invited him to join his harem. "Sadik, huh? ...What does he want this time, more land?"

"The rights to the Eastern Strait, to be precise, but he doesn't have too many of his people living in either of the ports already there, so I plan on giving him the boot. Want to tag along? You're homicidal enough. Might give him a run for his money."

"_Ha_, but I can barely stand _your_ company on a good day. If I never see Sadik again, it'll be too soon."

"Then I'll bring you back a souvenir," Gilbert said with a wink, red eyes sparkling, "as token of my affection."

"Not unless you want me to break your fingers."

"Pain is its very own pleasure, _Liebling_. And for what it's worth, I think we would be beautiful together, I have no doubt about that."

"Yeah, a match made in hell. Now get out of my kingdom."

Gilbert bowed as lowly as he could manage before turning sharply on his heel, cape whipping the air behind him. He marched briskly back into the stables where shouting commenced, foreign soldiers filing out into the heat in the same mechanical pose.

Romano crossed his arms and leaned back against the trunk of the tree, half tempted to reach up and pluck a fig from its leaves for a nibble when he heard the high trill of his brother's voice behind him. A glance over his shoulder revealed Feliciano and Antonio already halfway down the stairs from the entrance hall, chatting animatedly amongst themselves as the senior maid trailed after the younger prince, still sniffling, dabbing dramatically at the corner of her eyes with her handkerchief.

Feliciano, despite his earlier protestations, had at least had the mind to dress properly for the journey. He wore tan trousers beneath a green tunic and the knee-high boots Romano had given him for his last birthday, his traveling bag hanging loosely from one shoulder and a cape tucked under one arm in case the weather proved inclement. And if Romano knew anything at all about his brother, he could bet Feliciano had stuffed some parchment and drawing utensils into the bag before setting out, because a life without art, at least in Feliciano's eyes, was about as unfulfilling as a life without pasta.

Feeling the all too familiar pangs of sorrow now that his departure was drawing near, Romano shifted uneasily in the shade and wondered whether or not Feliciano would cry when he bid him farewell. Feliciano was odd like that; merrier than a kid in a festival one moment and a fountain of tears the next. 'Difficult' might be a better word to use here, because Feliciano was typically sporadic in his bearing at the best of times (and Romano was hoping against all hope that this would give Ludwig as much a headache in the next few days as it had afforded Romano throughout the span of his short lifetime).

Frozen as he was as he weighed the pros and cons of interrupting their obviously pleasant conversation, he eventually caught sight of somebody else lurking at the top of the stairs. Naturally, it was only _Ludwig_, looking as phlegmatic as ever, with his hair slicked back and his cape draped carelessly over his left shoulder. Stiff and impassive, he looked like a statue, the metals of his ridiculously decorated uniform gleaming in the sunlight as he took a deep breath. He looked obdurate; unyielding, even more so when his eyes caught sight of Feliciano.

It unnerved Romano, to say the least; he couldn't read the man. Maybe Ludwig was merely studying his brother, as though he was yet another unknown continent to be conquered. Or maybe his gaze was drawn by _lust_; Feliciano was certainly lovely when he wasn't being an absolute pain in the you-know-what.

Whatever the case may be, the other '_L_' word flickered briefly through Romano's mind when Ludwig descended the first step and, still staring, very nearly missed it. The prince corrected himself almost immediately as Romano tried with all his might to banish 'love' from his mind, but the damage had already been done and there was no unseeing what he had just born witness to.

Nevertheless, Romano could not submit to such an absurd a notion. There _was_ no love—

There could _be_ no love.

And so, with this in mind, Romano strode over to Antonio and his brother before Ludwig could reach either of the two and looped his arm through his husband's. Then, pleased with the bemused look on Antonio's face, Romano leaned up a little onto his toes to whisper in his ear. "_Nonno_ wants you to explain something to Feliciano."

"And what would that be, _cariño_?"

Romano smiled. "_Sex_."

Antonio, despite his darker complexion, visibly paled. "...This is a joke. Right?"

"Not at all." In the corner of his eye, Romano could see the way his blatant secrecy had piqued Feliciano's curiosity. "_Nonno_ said I can't, for obvious reasons, but Feli's a virgin and neither of us wants him to be frightened on his wedding night."

Dragging Romano a few steps back from Feliciano, Antonio fidgeted nervously at his side, the way he usually did when Romano had ensnared him through other means than mere seduction. "_Cariño_," he very nearly whimpered, "you know as well as I do that there is no simple way of explaining..._it_. Least of all with the amount of time we have left."

"Better get to it then," he murmured, brushing his lipsagainst the shell of Antonio's ear (just to give him the chills). Then he slipped his arm free of Antonio's and headed up the palace stairs, not sparing Ludwig so much as a glance before running off to find his grandfather.

There was still so much left to do before the 'wedding'.

~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~

This ungodly heat did not sit well with him.

Ludwig had woken that morning in something of a black humour. He had always been an early riser, although it had taken him a moment or two to remember where he was exactly now and what had transpired the day before. Despite the fact that Feliciano Vargas was not entirely pleased with their engagement, Ludwig's disappointment in the matter was perhaps less so than he would've expected; after all, he had prepared himself for the situation to go either way, with either Feliciano's acceptance or dismay, because those were really the only two outcomes that could ever come of a royal engagement. Honestly, as long as Feliciano was graceful of character in social affairs, Ludwig didn't see them having any real troubles in the foreseeable future...

And besides, the young prince was comely. If that wasn't a godsend, Ludwig didn't know what was.

Nevertheless, he felt stifled by the heat. His country had its fair share of warm summers, but the air was humid here in a way that carried the suffocating warmth into every crook in cranny, and despite his best efforts to evade it the palace shade could only do so much to alleviate his discomfort. He felt like a prisoner in his own uniform.

The sooner they left, the better.

Ludwig quitted the guest chambers after taking a light breakfast (these people seemed to think 'meat' was undeserving of a place on the morning menu, which was, plainly put, bordering on barbaric) and asked a servant to have someone prepare his horse for him before making his way to the entrance hall. Through the windows of the main floor he could hear the sound of Gilbert sorting out the younger foot soldiers, followed then a burst of giggles from a couple of maids hiding behind the curtains who were too absorbed in ogling the foreign officers to commence with their usual chores. They snapped to attention and curtsied the moment they caught sight of him, though, before scampering off, and so he took his first step out into the sunlight with a weary sigh, wondering how Roma had managed his kingdom all these years with such a conspicuous lack of discipline.

He hadn't been quite so prepared to see Feliciano up this early, having learned of the prince's sleeping habits from both Gilbert and Antonio the night before, but he couldn't say that he was disappointed. Truly, the boy was stunning: small and lithe, amber hair afire in the morning light, smiling sweetly the way only an honest soul can—Ludwig couldn't help but stare.

A moment later, it occurred to him that someone would notice him standing there, gaping like an idiot, and he almost took a tumble when he realized it. Somehow—thank God—he managed to make his way down to the courtyard in one piece and was, quite thankfully, blatantly ignored by the older Vargas as they passed each other on the stairs. Such was the way of small mercies.

Feliciano spotted him out of the corner of his eye and trained his gaze curiously on his fiancé before realizing the sudden change in his brother-in-law's demeanor. Where once he had been spirited, Antonio now looked nothing less than distraught, face pale, rubbing the sweat from the back of his neck before taking Feliciano gently by the elbow and leading him over to the shade. Feliciano, for the most part, looked utterly perplexed, but continued smiling regardless, as though he was not unfamiliar with the way his brother had a way of setting Antonio's nerves on edge.

Some small part of Ludwig wanted to interrupt their conversation so that he could have a word with Feliciano himself, but it occurred to him suddenly that he hadn't the slightest idea what to say. Feliciano, it seemed, wasn't as easily impressed with Ludwig's militant attitude as the women back home.

Discouraged (though he would never admit it), he spotted Gilbert across the courtyard beside his steed and decided that now was as good as any time to ask him what the hell _'pas-ta'_ was. When he asked as much, however, Gilbert had no reservations about guffawing openly in his face.

"I'll give you a clue, Ludi: you _eat_ it."

"Is it a meat then?"

"No—think _spätzle_. Noodles, _ja_? Only, it's pretty staple around here—and I mean _pretty _staple. Can't walk two paces without tripping over it."

Ludwig frowned, not entirely pleased with this answer. "But is there some sort of religious connotation to it?"

Gilbert laughed again. Then he grabbed the reigns of his horse, stuck his leading foot into the stirrup, and mounted in one fluid motion. "Might as well be, I suppose. They're not big on meat. An odd diet, I know, but a lean_ saukerl_ is harder to kill on the battle field than a fat one, so I can't exactly blame them." Given the still confounded look on Ludwig's face, Gilbert sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward, as though he expected the great and unnamed God to provide him with a better answer; nothing was forthcoming "...Imagine giving up _wurst_ for the rest of your miserable life and instead sticking strictly to the fruits and veggies. Do you get the picture now?"

Ludwig didn't need to say anything. The brief look of horror that graced his typically stoic face was all the answer Gilbert needed.

Satisfied, Gilbert glanced briefly at Feliciano, who was bidding farewell to his brother and his grandfather off to the side before mounting his mare, and then offered Ludwig one last sly wink before setting off for the gates. Things were, it seemed, finally in full swing for their departure.

The servant Ludwig had sent out earlier approached him quietly, if not timidly, with the reigns to his steed in hand. Ludwig thanked the boy, mounted, and paused only long enough to wonder whether or not he should join Gilbert as he always had at the lead before figuring that now was as good a time as any to get to know his fiancé. Perhaps the boredom of trip would eventually loosen his tongue?

If Feliciano wanted to be left alone, he showed no signs of it when Ludwig pulled up alongside him. The four guards that Roma had handpicked from his own men to accompany the prince on his journey gave him the most threatening look of bemusedly, not-entirely-a-threatening-look Ludwig had ever seen, _to_ _date_, before almost ignoring him altogether in an aloof sort of manner that suggested that they were, in fact, _still watching him_. It was amusing, to say the least, and maybe just a little frightening, but Feliciano simply glowed in the sunlight in a way that was almost ethereal and Ludwig was completely enthralled before he realized that he was, yet again, openly staring.

Accustomed as he was to the thinly (or perhaps, in this case, craftily?) veiled hostility of the guards, he settled comfortably into pace with the retinue as they trotted through the palace gates.

The peasants stopped and stared at them as they passed through the city streets. Many of them trained their eyes on the foreigners, though they seemed more interested in Feliciano than anyone else; Feliciano, in turn, returned their attention, waving and smiling at the little ones, or maybe responding to a salutation swiftly before Ludwig could translate the boy's native tongue. They loved him, that much was clear, and he loved them in return. And Ludwig...and maybe Ludwig was just a _little_ jealous...

Not for the first time since their discussion last night, Ludwig briefly wondered whether or not Feliciano had a lover. He would have no trouble finding one (that much was clear on first sight), and had been pretty hung up on the idea of love factoring into every relationship. If it was true that he already hadn't found someone, why couldn't he accept Ludwig as his partner? Ludwig wasn't so vain as to boast his attributes aloud, but he really didn't think he was _that_ bad—and besides, he wasn't _anywhere_ near as insane as Gilbert. Honestly, Ludwig was the more sensible of the two. Anyone that knew his brother would agree that Feliciano had lucked out on the long end of the proverbial stick.

Distressed as he was, he couldn't find the right moment to interrupt Feliciano's open discussion with the passing masses to strike up a conversation of his own. And soon, as the houses began to stand farther apart, and the hills began to roll before their very eyes into fields upon fields of gold, Ludwig realized that he only had a day and half left to come up with _something_ to say to the boy that would endear Feliciano to him before they reached the capital...

Somehow, though, he had a feeling it was going to be the longest day and a half of his life.

~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~

A/N: ...Meh. For some reason this chapter was such a bother to write. Does it flow at all for you? I'm not sure... Anyhow, criticism is welcome, but you guys are already such a gem in reviewing. Needless to say, I'm very grateful for all your input. ;)

**Translations:**

"_Nonno"_ ~ 'grandfather' (Italian)

"_Guten Morgen"_ ~ 'good morning' (German)

"_Liebling"_ ~ 'darling' or 'sweetheart' (German)

"_Cariño"_ ~ 'darling' (Spanish)

"_Spätzle"_ ~ a noodle dish that's kind of like pasta (German)

"_Ja"_ ~ 'yes' (German)

"_Saukerl"_ ~ 'bastard' (German)

"_Wurst"_ ~ basically 'meat' (German)


End file.
